


Number 32

by Bonsim



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Frost Lords, Kidnapping, More Gohan being Questionable, Outer Space, Planet Trade Organization, Survival, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonsim/pseuds/Bonsim
Summary: Gohan Son became a number the moment the Frost Lords took an interest in the exploded wreckage of Planet Namek. Elsewhere, nothing will stop Goku Son in finding his son, not space, not years -not even a number.
Relationships: Son Gohan & Son Goku
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. The Order

32 has a mixed record with following orders. Back when he was a little kid, he'd taken so many beatings in one go that he'd been disorientated for a week straight, all because he refused to do as told. The orders were probably not _that_ unreasonable, but 32 had just been that way. Stubborn and proud, he'd stand up for those righteous beliefs and take the cane across the face with the same honour of accepting a trophy. As 32 grew older, he wizened up to the fact that fairy-tale senses of right and wrong don't exist and so the beatings lessened. The orders from superiors grew more expectant until it got to the point that 32 could give orders himself.

Yes, Captain 32 in the South Division is known for executing a clean and swift job. He's as loyal as any dog, and is recognized for not questioning orders. Even when the order is a big ask, 32 manages to do the impossible. However, today's order has even him questioning his own ability to deliver.

As the day is early, this has yet to happen, and 32 only has one thing on his mind.

_I need to see the prisoner._

Yesterday had marked a crucial failure for 32 in that he hadn't been the one to apprehend the trespasser. This person apparently has… ties to Namek, has ties to something 32 tries not to think about on a daily basis –has ties to something 32 _needs_ to know. No information has come up about the prisoner yet but he knows that it's only time, and 32 wants to be the first person to know who it is.

He is currently walking along the sparse corridors of the ship in dedicated strides –knowing exactly where he's going. Most people are dining in the refectory at this time and so 32 has the benefit of sneaking around unnoticed. Questions would cause problems and 32 always tries his best to avoid problems. Remaining under the radar where he can is always a priority. Still, the idea of the general kitchen slop is a turn-off in its own right so it's not like he needs any excuses to skip a meal.

32 manages to slink down three winding steps until he bumps into a fellow captain. He salutes and moves on, quick to access a lift going downwards into the bowls of the ship. As it goes down on its journey, he stares out of the impressive window looking into the infinity of space. Speckles of stars and planets alike glisten in the backdrop whilst closer ships whizz by with speed. In the monotony of the descent, he looks out across the gloom and lets his gaze run askew and lose focus.

When the window stops being just that, and instead a mirror, 32 feels uncomfortable with the reflection staring back. Gone are the stars zooming by, lost to the black of the universe giving way to the image of a young man. The reflection is still boyish in nature, with dark and distant eyes hindered by bags, unbefitting its age as if just to contrast. Somewhere in the in between of childhood and adulthood has it looking a bit awkward, gawky even, and whilst the height gives the advantage of looking older, it also emphasizes the skinny nature hiding beneath a well-muscled form.

32 moves to curl a stray lock of disobedient hair behind his ear when the reflection suggests as much. It's as equally as dark as the eyes and is pulled back into a lose ponytail. Limply, it sits against the traditional armour come to be expected of the Frost Empire.

All in all, a soldier stares back; and a very tired one at that.

He's exhausted after doing the trip from the Southern Quadrant to the north. It took days and he's grumpier for it, hating these Northern assholes even more than usual for the crime of 32 having to be here.

The Northern Quadrant isn't nearly as cold or as harsh as its Southern counterpart. Even as they orbit the central Frost-ruled planet, one man-made with cool steel and iron, the warmth of a neighbouring star can be felt within the ship. 32 is used to snow and ice, and the chill of always having frosty fingers, and so feels accordingly spoilt for not having to wear his furs. Said furs (a long cloak of a variety of slain creatures) lay in a crumpled pile of greys and whites atop his cabin bed, betrayed. Still, if 32 can get away with not having to wear them then he will. The association tied to the furs is one of leadership, and even if he isn't a captain serving in the north, he's still a captain regardless.

Finally 32 reaches the dismal underbelly of the beast, and it's not the rickety shaking of the list that throws him –but the _smell._ Putrid gasses and fuels which make the ship run are stored here, and the noxious scent is more than enough to have him rush along empty corridors and through various bays. The enormous ship has three holding cells –this one is the worst of them all and the one he just knows the Frost Lords would insist upon using for anyone with ties to Namek.

The door to the cells slam open and he spots two guards poised either side. Why they're there 32 has no idea. The cells themselves are infused with sheenks, a substance used to repress energy, so the two really are of little use. They're both Northern soldiers so he doubts they'll recognize him as a captain, and so he has to sneak past them once the opportunity presents itself. When one of the prisoners decides to make noise they both turn to investigate and give 32 the chance to pass by.

The hallway of cells is impressively long and he'd be spoilt for choice if not for knowing where this mystery prisoner is being held.

_Cell #001._

He'd gotten _that_ much information thanks to his mole. Cell #001 is of course near the rear if only to spite 32's legs. 32 walks and walks until he sees the number written out in a series of dots above a crusty cell door. When he stops to peer into the darkness it takes a lot not to make a noise, especially when the prisoner stands up and approaches the barred door.

32 can barely contain his surprise. His brows disappear in the arch of his hair as he takes in the entire visage. He's had but a few shocks during his short time serving as a captain, but this one really does hit him in the gut, for in front of him in a decrepit waiting cell stands a man he'd long thought dead.

_Vegeta._

Well, he's certainly _shorter_ than 32 remembers.

The Prince of Saiyans considers 32 coldly behind thick bars of steel, eyes pressed thin as if weighing up the odds of fighting him one-on-one. Blandly, 32 ignores the look of distaste. He's seen it all before. No-one ever wants to stand in the murk and bile of one of these cells, least of all 32, but in the depths of this steel shithole there's privacy. Very few soldiers dare go too far into the ship's foundation for the rotting stench of corpses is enough to relinquish any man of his dinner.

This prisoner doesn't seem to be complaining however. He eyes 32's deep blue and grey armour with severe dislike, and then turns up to acknowledge 32 personally. If anything, the level of dislike increases. 32 then considers the thought that Vegeta might even recognize him, but the moment comes to pass without any comment on it. It's most likely the case that he doesn't as ten years really is a long time and 32 would have just been amongst the many faces Vegeta has seen come and go.

The man finally scoffs like he's finally ready to grace the teenager with his words, and so 32 narrows his eyes in waiting. The memories of cutting comments and aggressive taunts resurface quite quickly for 32, and even if he'd been young upon their first meeting Vegeta is a person not quite so easily forgotten.

"Do you speak the common-tongue, boy?"

32 folds his arms and straightens his back. "I do."

"So what, are you here to bring me slop or clean my piss? Because I'm sorry to disappoint you but if you come into my cell then I'll have to tear you limb-from-limb."

32 taps at his armour as if Vegeta hadn't yet noticed. "I'm a soldier, not a slave."

"Same difference." The saiyan spits and saunters over to the bars. It's a move that's supposed to intimate 32 but the latter doesn't take as single step back. And so Vegeta's head tilts in the dimness of the room, eyes angled to hurt. "Here I thought Hailer's famous Southern soldiers would be a little more intimidating, instead they send a boy. Am I supposed to be scared?"

"And here I thought you'd be taller so I imagine we're both disappointed."

The desired effect takes place and Vegeta swivels. "Let's see how tall you'll be when I knock your head off, you little shit."

_Oh, fiery._

32 wants to sigh at Vegeta's quick rise to anger. These types never really tend to warm up to him, and this trip down here isn't one for fun, or even done in the vain of morbid curiosity. No, 32 has questions.

As if to challenge the intent, 32's scouter beeps to life and he watches in cool contemplation as the device documents Vegeta's reactive ki spike. The numbers climb and climb until the machine runs hot and 32 has to turn it off.

The prince snorts, still livid as he proceeds to say something in a language 32 doesn't understand entirely. His fluency is excellent but not perfect. Any flowery insult can be uniquely woven enough to throw him. Eventually, Vegeta finishes with; "If you still need that pitiful thing attached to your face then you best keep me in this cage. What a joke you are. Scouters are just scraps of useless metal ready for the trash heap."

"Perhaps they are move evolved than your last experience with them," 32 says curtly. "I can track location, access databases, even check your heart rate and body temperature. Right now it's telling me that you're becoming rather frustrated."

"Oh, but here I thought I was showing my utmost gratitude for this _generous_ accommodation." 32 spares a glance around the hole, stopping only for the skeleton in the corner. Vegeta snorts. "Yes, my bunkmate is just a riot. I can see standards haven't really changed in my absence."

32 eyes the man. Clearly Vegeta hasn't been travelling for some time, he looks healthy and without injury. Has he been in hiding? If so, who has been harbouring him? Does he have a base –allies? 32 knows these questions will go unanswered so he skips to why he's here.

"They say a saiyan killed Lord Frieza," 32 next drawls, swallowing up the vision of Vegeta's expression shifting into something new, something inquisitive and curious.

"Yeah and what of it?"

"Some say that saiyan was _you_."

Through the bars, Vegeta's rigid hold on himself drops with a burst of dark laughter.

"I wish it was."

"So you're saying it wasn't?"

Vegeta then smirks and leans against the bars of his cell, quiet.

32 brushes a hand through his hair, impatient. But he's got excellent self-control, and his tone remains even all the way throughout. "Were you at least there the night Lord Frieza was killed?"

"Does Hailer want to know? Cooler? Is that why you're here?"

The teenager doesn't have an answer because the truth really would land him in hot shit. Vegeta, ironically, mistakes this for loyalty as there's a long pause whilst the man appraises him.

In a very quiet voice, the saiyan leans in. "And why would I tell a little boot-licking piece of shit like you anything?"

More silence follows, thick, as 32 bats his eyes lazily, pretending that he doesn't feel so frustrated that he could reach in and throttle the prick. It's fine, he thinks, because at the end of this encounter 32 gets to walk away out of this shit hole cell and go somewhere that doesn't smell like piss and sick.

He thinks this, yet by the time 32's scouter beeps again, Vegeta is straining a cool kind of smile and 32 still feels angry. The summoning chime from the scouter goes ignored as the teenager considers the prisoner.

Vegeta, who recognizes the sound instantly, likely from his own line of service, bats a hand at him. "Run along, Master is calling."

32 presses the sleek button on its side, answering.

It is Lord Hailer _actually_ , which is rare. It's an instruction telling him that he's required in the Meeting Hall.

The teenager eyeballs the saiyan one last time, knowing that whatever Lord Hailer wants probably has to do with what is currently standing right in front him this very second. 32 refuses to spare the prince another ounce of attention and turns to leave the area in brisk motion.

The moron prince's mouth will get him killed sooner rather than later around here anyway.

* * *

Once 32 manages to escape the foul reaches of the ship and make it to the Meeting Hall, he notices straight away that something isn't quite right. Lord Hailer doesn't like armed guards on his doors, yet here stand two burly, brain-dead looking soldiers with guns. They're positioned either side of two swinging doors.

"What's yer business?" asks the cross-eyed brute.

"Why, it must be a fan," the other equally as attractive one says with far too much amusement. "Sorry, kid, but Lord Hailer doesn't do autographs."

32's lips press into a thin line. This is why he hates coming north. None of the Northern soldiers know him by face so they usually assume him to be an errand boy or front line cannon fodder. Usually 32 would gesture down to his captain-rank badge and the soldiers would trip over each other, apologising. Today is not one of those days. 32's badge currently lies on the surface of a table in his cabin room along with his furs.

"Lord Hailer is expecting me," 32 mentions when one the brutes towers over him. The other reaches for his gun and strokes it in a fashion 32 thinks is supposed to look threatening.

"Is he now?" the first chortles, "I didn't think he had a thing for pretty boys."

… _Pretty boy?!_

Now, 32 isn't one to react under normal circumstance, but this goes beyond disrespect –this is about his pride as a man! He'll show him _pretty boy_! But before 32 could reach out and backhand the guard into _oblivion_ , a gloved hand covers his own.

"Captain Ytvl!" the two guards greet at once, their bodies erecting into formal bows.

"You know," the new captain begins casually, addressing 32's desired victims, "I think I just saved your lives."

Captain Ytvl turns and gives him an earnest sort of smile. It's a bit unnerving actually. It's the type of smile 32 sees the common people share with one another, one of openness and with a lack of deceit. When 32 glances down and sees Ytvl's captain badge shine back at him in greeting it makes sense. _Ah, so he's a Northern captain_. That explains it. Not in the South would you see the officers so publically friendly with one another.

32 eyes him. He looks quite important actually, donned in a long, flowing red cape, with shiny bronze armour and studded battle-ready boots. It's every bit the antithesis of 32's very plain blue jumpsuit and armour set.

" _Captain,_ " Ytvl stresses as he forces 32's hand into a shake. This earns the desired effect when the guards bow their head and rush to apologise. Ytvl holds his other hand up in admonishment. "No, I think our guest has heard enough from you two. You can both report to my chambers tonight for the appropriate punishment."

Like a mirror image of one another, they both freeze and bow their heads.

"Of course, sir."

"Yes, Captain."

Captain Ytvl opens the door and gestures for 32 to enter first. It's an extensive, drawn-out hallway with only one opposing door facing them. The room is plain and without any further guards. It seems like such a waste of space. Anything for grandeur 32 supposes.

"Definitely a Southerner, aren't you?" Ytvl comments, delighted with the prospect of it. The cape swishes dramatically behind and for some reason it pisses 32 off. When 32 doesn't reply it seems to give Ytvl the expectation that he should continue talking. "Lord Hailer has brought a whole fleet of you this time. Has he even left any men in the South?"

"Enough to hold it," 32 dismisses in the hopes that Ytvl would read the room.

He doesn't.

"Lord Cooler has been quite busy with the preparations for Lord Hailer's visit for some time now, but I doubt even he foresaw the swarm of Southerners following Lord Hailer here."

"You'd almost think that they don't trust each other" 32 replies dryly.

Ytvl's laugh is just as obnoxious as himself. It's open and carefree and 32 can't help but watch him, unnerved. The captain seems to be only a few years older than he is, yet he looks to be 32's antithesis in nearly every way possible. Whilst 32 is wispy and moody, Ytvl's broad, bright and brawny; a perfect poster child for the job.

He then wonders if Ytvl had also been in the Youth Program like 32 had been. This captain's demeanour doesn't suggest he had, however, because most ex-Youth Program soldiers don't run around grinning at people and laughing like a deranged moose.

Ytvl sighs.

"Sometimes I wish they'd just go to war and be done with it."

32 almost trips over. This is borderline treasonous!

"Oh, it wouldn't hurt you lot to lighten up. Really, it's bound to happen sooner or later anyway."

"Then I'm your enemy" replies 32 after a brief pause, "by your logic."

Ytvl's mouth quirks into a smile, "I suppose you are but that's hardly a surprise for you, right? Despite both of us working for the Frost Empire and within the same army, we're both still very much working under two different leaders."

32 hums non-committedly in response. This is dangerous territory.

The other captain offers another grin as though they're merely discussing the weather. Something about this man doesn't sit right and 32 feels the strong urge to put some distance between them. Someone all smiles and pleasantries never means well as far as he is concerned. Come to think of it, how did Ytvl even know who 32 was just by face alone? 32 most certainly wouldn't be able to pick Ytvl out of a line up should he even try.

When they reach the door it swings open without so much of a touch from either captain. 32 mentally stores away his doubts for later to focus on what's waiting for him in this very room. Blues and reds drape the area in a garish visage, hailing in banner and flag form. These are the colours of the North and South, respectfully. Yet, if anything, they just highlight the tension with their clash of bright, ugly colours.

In the centre of the room, Lord Hailer sits dramatically on a large, wooden throne probably decades older than 32 is. He is without his usual glass of wine, but is, however, accompanied by Lord Cooler sitting in an equally tasteless chair.

"My Lords," 32 greets at the same time as Ytvl. Both sink to their knees in dutiful unison.

"Rise, both of you" Lord Cooler instructs. 32 only does so when Lord Hailer offers a curt nod.

"I'd like to introduce you to Captain Ytvl, Brother," Lord Cooler says through thin, purple lips.

Between Lord Frieza and Lord Cooler, it is Lord Cooler who resembles Lord Hailer most. They both seem to share a similar build and face shape, and a calmness which Lord Frieza had not had. Only Lord Hailer's palette of varying shades of blue vastly contrasts his younger brother's.

"So you're the captain who brought in Vegeta?" Lord Hailer asks without inflection. There's no congratulatory tone in his voice, no excitement, nothing. It's almost dry.

This doesn't stop Ytvl from peacocking. "Yes, my Lord. He wasn't willing but our squad managed to bring him in, in the end."

Well, Ytvl didn't tell him that little titbit.

"My medics say he hasn't a single broken bone," Lord Hailer continues, tail waspishly flicking.

If Ytvl is bothered by Lord Hailer's clear lack of enthusiasm it doesn't show. "He was healed in a regeneration tank, my Lord."

Unsurprisingly, it's Cooler who cracks first. "You said you wanted him well and alive and so I present him to you as such."

"Which means you've had him in your custody longer than you've cared to admit," Lord Hailer snipes back. He sighs and reaches out with his scaly hand, clicking his fingers. 32 knows Lord Hailer well enough to know what that means, and sure enough, a pathetic looking creature lumbers over from the shadows carrying a tray holding two tumblers.

The sickly scent of Lord Hailer's favourite wine never sits well with 32. He'd been misfortunate to try it once, hating the sweet tartness of it but having to pretend to be thankful and enjoy it all the same.

Both Lords take a glass each. By the time Lord Cooler finishes a sip Lord, Hailer has already downed half of its contents.

"Brother," Lord Hailer then initiates, and 32 knows this is his turn to make an impression. "This is Captain 32 of Central."

32 bows his head respectfully as Lord Cooler scoffs.

"What, are you now so cruel as to deny your men names?"

"The men are free to choose whatever names they so please," Lord Hailer says after another mouthful of red. "Should they not want a name then I'm not one to stop them using their recruitment numbers."

Lord Cooler places his own glass down and considers 32 for a moment. "Oh, so that must mean you're from the Youth Program."

He sounds impressed, enough so that Lord Hailer smirks darkly into his glass.

"Hmm, I admire their work there but I'd rather my men have a bit more bite about them, a bit more free-will. Though, I have to say you don't get soldiers like you used to –the complaining can drive a man crazy. So many soldiers are so… pitiful these days."

Lord Hailer chuckles. "You have to be careful not to sound like Frieza, dear brother. His personnel were always fired… quite literally."

Lord Cooler grunts, amused. "Yes, well, he _did_ have quite the temper. Did he not?"

"Of course, but it never helped that his subordinates were often societal degenerates."

"Like Vegeta, you mean?"

A snappish laugh sounds, "And now we have come full circle. Perhaps if he'd used the Youth Program then he wouldn't have had to purge an entire race of perfectly good cannon fodder."

"I can drink to that." And so Lord Cooler does. The glass lowers and he next considers 32 with a beady eye. "This one looks disciplined."

"32 is a fine example of the Youth Program," says Lord Hailer as though 32 wasn't there and they were simply discussing meat.

Lord Cooler looks him up and down, and suddenly 32 wishes that he's as finely dressed as Ytvl.

"How old is he? I could do with some more manpower North-West."

"I apologize, but he's required southward." Lord Hailer then drains the glass and leans back into the wooden frame. " _However_ , for this very special occasion, I present him to you as a representation of our combined power to avenge Frieza's death."

"But you just said he's required elsewhere."

"I wish to nominate 32 as the executioner of Prince Vegeta."

32's eyes widen just a fraction. Well, this isn't where he expected this meeting to go.

Lord Hailer continues, "It shall be here on _your_ ship, but with the manpower of one of my captains. It will be the combination of both of our authorities that brings vengeance to our Empire. We'll capture the footage of the event and air it live to hundreds of millions across the universe."

Lord Cooler probably looks as surprised as 32 feels. He eventually finds his voice. "And to what crime has Vegeta committed? I refuse to announce that he was Frieza's murderer when we both know he was not. I want the man who tarnished the Frost Empire's name to pay the price in blood."

"The crime? Simple. His crime is being a _saiyan_." Lord Hailer's gaze heats as he faces 32, and 32 now understands everything his Lord is putting forward here. "It shall be law that all remaining saiyans be sentenced to death. They are a danger to the Frost Empire and its beliefs and thusly need to be eradicated."

Lord Cooler stills as he contemplates this. His eyes flicker to Captain Ytvl's as though looking for a comrade's opinion on the matter. Whoever this Ytvl is, he seems to have earned the respect of his lord.

"And what do you suppose I do with any remaining saiyans in my army, Brother?" Lord Cooler eventually asks. It sounds rhetorical but Lord Hailer is quick with an answer.

"Put them to death. Individuals need to realise that there's consequence for their actions."

"My men are loyal," Lord Cooler stresses. "We're not Frieza. I don't want to kill good men for no good reason."

Lord Hailer sighs deeply, his tail batting harder against the marble. Small cracks can be seen where his tail meets the floor.

"Really, how many saiyans do you have?" Lord Hailer asks impatiently, "I barely had enough to fill a purging unit, and that was including the mixed bloods."

32 watches on, and feels the apprehension coming from Captain Ytvl beside him. The man's face isn't as easy to read as earlier, but the signs of stress are rather clear. Sweat prickles at the top of his forehead and he seems to have turned a shade lighter. Morbidly, 32 wonders if Ytvl has any friends with saiyan blood.

"The message is clear," Lord Hailer announces, loud from the diaphragm. "If any sheep dare oppose us then the whole flock will be put down."

Cooler breathes through his nose and pauses. He doesn't spare a look at Ytvl this time.

"I have perhaps five saiyans, good men mostly; stubborn, but strong… You're asking a lot of me to do this."

"Do this and I assure you that we will find our brother's true murderer," Lord Hailer promises.

Lord Cooler bats his claw-like fingers on the armrest for what seems to be a long while. Suddenly, his lips upturn into a snarl and he lashes out and knocks his wine glass from the table. It shatters into thousands of pieces with a dramatic smash. Shards of glass bounce against 32's boots.

"This best be worth it. My men are not disposable."

Lord Cooler then launches up from his chair and storms through the double doors leading out. Captain Ytvl bows lowly to Lord Hailer before following Lord Cooler's path.

With equal obedience, 32 faces his Lord with expectation.

Lord Hailer watches him just as fervently. He clicks his fingers once more. The same creature from earlier appears with a singular glass of wine this time. The sip taken is a generous one.

Lord Hailer smacks his lips. "Nothing rattles you, does it?"

This is careful stepping, 32 tells himself.

"My lord?"

"I'm surprised. I'd have thought you be more grateful. I'm giving you such a monumental task and I haven't heard so much as a peep from you." Lord Hailer isn't surprised at all, not really. 32 knows this and holds his tongue in check as Lord Hailer settles for another sip. "But you're not bloodthirsty are you? I suppose not all saiyans are as beast-like as Vegeta."

32 lowers his gaze, knowing that's what Lord Hailer wants in the moment. He wants 32 to be ashamed of his heritage. Being a saiyan is a sin, and now it's going to be written into law.

"You know why you're being spared, 32" Lord Hailer says evenly. "But that doesn't mean you should face no punishment."

"Yes, my lord."

"You're dismissed. You'll receive detail on the time and date of the execution."

"Thank you, my lord."

The funny thing, 32 thinks as he marches from the room, is that he probably hates saiyans about as much as Lord Hailer does. He hates their bloodlust, their desires, their childish selfishness. But most of all, 32 hates the evil and bloodied history that the saiyan people crafted, body after body, and so proudly boast about.

Despite this, 32 can see what this execution is really saying to him: _this is a warning._

The only reason 32 has been tasked in performing the act is so the message runs clear. Lord Hailer doesn't give a fuck who kills Vegeta so long as it's done. This avenging Frieza crap is just sweet whispers in Lord Cooler's ears. Only time will tell if Lord Cooler falls for it, or if he's also just using the situation for his own gains. That's how it works between these two.

Perhaps Ytvl is right and they should just go to war.

The doors snaps shut behind 32 just in time to hear Lord Hailer click his fingers one last time.

* * *

How he feels about executing Vegeta is of little importance to 32. He categorizes the endeavour under 'Necessary Duties' and sets about how he has to do this. Whilst 32 has never performed a public execution before he knows the technique Lord Hailer will insist he use. 32 has unfortunately seen it many times. It's a ki-based technique, one that is slow and torturous. First, the prisoner is strapped down and then doused in cold water (if they're lucky). Sodden, he or she is then set a flame with an energy blast colloquially known as 'The Boiler'. It doesn't burn the prisoner to death instantly, instead cooking them slowly from the inside until there is no moisture left in their body, or if the flame is snuffed out.

It's actually a pretty difficult technique to master. The temperature of the blast cannot be too low or too high otherwise the death will be too quick, or just won't come at all. It's not a way 32 would choose to go, and it's one of the last techniques he'd want to learn.

Frustrated, a low sighs leaves him as he applies his finger to the fingerprint pad. The pad beeps and the door next to it opens with a faint click.

_Home, sweet home…_

His room is simple, sparse even. It's a thin rectangular shape and coloured in a dismal grey. His bed, probably harder than the floor, tucks behind the alcove of his ensuite bathroom. It's a decent size, and wonderfully clean thanks to the servants who frequent these private rooms. It's the exact same as the layout back on planet Central with the only difference being the lack of books and mechanic parts lounging about his desk.

He removes his scouter and massages where it once sat. Vegeta is stupid. The value of a scouter extends further than sensing one's power level. It is his link to online communication and information.

_Stupid Vegeta._

He'll look even more stupid when his screams air live for hours as he dies from the inside-out. A stream of air leaves through 32's nose and he throws himself down on his bed, his eyes close as he pictures the prince's final moments. Yes, it's going to be ugly indeed.

Routine forces 32 to reach in the cubby behind his bed, only for him to realise that this isn't his usual bedroom. Instead 32 has to root around in a small carry bag he brought with him, grunting when he finds what he needs at the very bottom. The bottle he brought is small, but the contents are enough to last him the trip. He taps the bottom of it gently until a small pill falls out.

Small, round and pink in colour, it'll make 32's night a bit more bearable.

The pill is swallowed dryly, and the bottle is thrown back into the bag. It's quick effecting, like all of 32's preferred drugs, and the lull of crawling back onto his bed engulfs him. Instead of the distorted face of Vegeta, wonderful colours now float through his mind, dancing and shining in a beautiful dance of their own. They swirl for hours, making him feel light. The sunset runs eternally and the weight of his covers suddenly form into warm, fluffy clouds, ones which pillow him until the dreams take him wholly.

This is the last thing he sees before being woken up in the middle of the night by the desperate need to vomit.

The next morning, he skips breakfast in the refectory, opting to take a long walk around the ship's interiors instead. It's colder than yesterday, but still nothing compared to the brutal weather of Central. Usually he wears furs over his jumpsuit, but here on this mothership they seem a bit overkill. To be honest, wearing furs around here comes across too patriotic for the South for 32's liking. Some of the other Southern captains have been seen flaunting around in their furs all around the ship, making 32 cringe in embarrassment.

Knowing that a captain's meeting has been organized for today, 32 wants to find a space for some quiet time before the battle for dominance starts in the meeting room.

He finds a bench hidden behind a collection of obnoxious shrubbery, where one bush has been trimmed to replicate Lord Cold's likeness. His green, bristly face has been posed with a stuck-up smirk, and 32 is happy that they never had the pleasure of crossing paths before this individual's death.

"I wonder if they had the gardener executed for this monstrosity."

32 turns to see the captain from yesterday, the Northern one that came into the meeting room with him. What is his name? _Ytvl_. The captain is looking as polished as ever, smiling down at 32 with charismatic glee.

Ytvl sits on the bench, occupying the very unwelcome space next to 32. "Hey now, you don't look very happy to see me."

_Then go away_.

But he doesn't. The unease seems to empower Ytvl if anything. They sit together for a short moment until the silence even becomes too much for 32 to bear.

"How did you know who I was yesterday?" 32 eventually has to ask.

Ytvl looks amused at the question and leans back comfortably. "You don't know your fellow captains by face? That's not very comradely of you."

32 releases a gust of air before setting his glare on the captain. "Look, I'm not going to play games with you. What do you want?"

Ytvl laughs absently and scratches at the bench with his finger nail. "What? I'm just building upon my inter-company relations. Making friends…"

"I'm not interested," he snaps and fixates his stare back on the hideous bush. He notices that the eyes are wonky now that 32's looking at it properly. "I'm not interested in _friends_."

From the corner of his eye, he notices Ytvl watch him with a sudden bout of intensely. Neither speak, and finally Ytvl seems to get the message that he's been rejected in creating whatever truce he'd been trying to establish. 32 doesn't allow curiosity to rear its head and continues to focus on Lord Cold's leafy face as Ytvl ups and walks away without another word.

The image of Ytvl's strained expression from yesterday flashes in his mind. He supposes that Ytvl really might have some saiyan friends he wants to spare, but no matter. The lords are in agreement. No saiyan shall be pardoned.

Well, except one.

He snorts. A saiyan executing the Prince of Saiyans on the grounds of being a saiyan. How… ironic. Say what you want about Lord Hailer, but he does seem to have a sense of humour.

The captain's meeting doesn't run long this morning but it is not without dramatics. Upon announcing the culling of any remaining saiyans, several of the captains spoke up, some even protested. It's a good thing that neither Lord Hailer nor Lord Cooler are there or there may have been some captain jobs up for offer. The debate over Vegeta's execution continues after all the points of the meeting have been discussed.

"And why do you get the honours?" asks a burly Northern captain, clearly disgusted at the lack of being chosen to perform the duty. He smacks a large fist down on the table and it shudders. "You're probably not even old enough to know who Prince Vegeta is, and you're Southern to boot."

"It was an agreement made between Lord Hailer and Lord Cooler," 32 replies coolly. He then clicks his tongue in a manner he knows would infuriate the beast-like captain just because he's petty like that. "Perhaps I was chosen for the task due to my loyalty, and the fact I don't bitch whenever I don't get my own way."

Some of the other captains snigger as the burly Northern captain rises from his chair.

"It has been decided," 32 insists, as if to leave no room for negotiation.

"Do you know how to perform The Boiler?" asks another Northern captain down the table. This time it's a woman; she's middle-aged with a large scar carved through her nose and into the crevice of her cheek.

32 pauses. "I have several days to master it."

She nods, but some of the other Northern captains start talking amongst themselves in hushed excitement. Even a few of the Southern captains look unimpressed. 32 wants to defend himself and tell them that he doesn't even want to do it but knows it's his duty to remain loyal to Lord Hailer's words.

"Terrible," spits a third Northern captain. He's old with a sagging third eye. "This is why Lord Cooler doesn't use soldiers from the Youth Program. You're a captain and you can't even perform The Boiler. What a travesty. We earn our rank in the north, you know."

Utterings between captains become louder until 32 is sure that someone would be able to hear the arguments outside. Several of the Southern captains are now shouting at the elderly captain, but he's giving as good as he's getting. The Northern captains not causing a commotion are now just glaring at 32 as though they wish for nothing more than to see him melt into the ground.

In contrast, Ytvl catches his eyes and sends a smug nod of the head.

_Bastard_ …

Suddenly, the table crashes down and the room drops into brisk silence. Beyond the sawdust and scattered papers, stands the culprit. He is 32's fellow Southern captain, a man named Pyrak and someone 32 wishes they'd just left in the South. His hand still hovers over where the table once stood as he lords above it.

_What an idiot._

_"I'm_ from the Youth Program _and_ can perform The Boiler better than any of ya," Pyrak growls through an uninhabited grin. Bared, his teeth are sharp, giving him the striking effect of looking like a wild beast. His hair is the colour of flames, and his skin is a dark tan, and like many of the patriotic idiots, he's in his furs. "Old Man, you say you don't like the Youth Program? Yeah? That's 'cause ya wouldn't have survived the Youth Program."

"Sit down, Pyrak" one of the other captains attempts, pulling at the beast's furs.

Pyrak snatches his arm back and struts over to where the old captain sits. "Nah, I don't think I will. Ya'know, I don't think 32 should have the honour, myself, but that's 'cause I think he's a piece of shit. He doesn't know a simple energy attack and that's a crime, really. But that's got nothin' to do with the Youth Program 'cause, well, I'm fucking glorious."

32 rolls his eyes.

"Yet I wasn't chosen…" Pyrak remarks wistfully, now leering over the elderly captain. He looks up at Pyrak with defiant eyes worthy of a soldier, and 32 is impressed because most wilt under Pyrak's intensity. "So… Old Man, I guess we both get to be pretty disappointed 'cause I know very well who Vegeta, Prince of Shit, is, and I would have loved to take a swing at him myself."

Silence follows so 32 decides to end this before it gets worse.

"I'll be executing Vegeta using The Boiler technique," 32 says, stern. All turn to look at him. "We are expected to stand proud and united during the demonstration as it will be aired live to millions, including the rebel groups opposing the Frost Empire. Let's remember our place." That said, 32 stands and leaves the room without as much as a look back.

The bodyguards jump when he walks through the doors. It's the two from yesterday. They both salute quickly and lower their heads. 32 notices each now sport purple and blue along their necks, contrasting the red of their uniform. Something dark and gleeful makes 32 happy to see it as he storms away.

Irritated, 32 decides he should get his daily training out of the way whilst he's still in a bad mood. So he spends the rest of the morning and afternoon in a private training chamber, working on manifesting his ki. One of the other captains will most likely have to show him how to perform The Boiler, but he can't bring himself to ask any of them right now. That would be mortifying.

It's dark by the time he finishes in the training chamber. 32 must smell of body odour and burnt flesh but he can't bring himself to give a rat's ass. Several Southern soldiers salute him as he walks down the halls, and interestingly enough, one of the Northern captains from this morning glares at him before storming off in the other direction.

Back on Central, he isn't popular either. But still, the Youth Program's alumni are regarded with both fear and reverence, so he's usually left to his own devices. Everyone pays him the respect his title earned, even the other captains nod at him, liked or not. Most people are pricks so 32 is happy to keep to himself anyway.

That's not to go without saying that there are some people 32 doesn't mind. Actually, 32 is rather friendly with some in the research division. 32 likes reading. That is how it'd started. He'd wanted books, and the research division had books. Eventually, he'd needed more books –so they'd provided more books. Over time they became so used to seeing 32 pottering about the library that they'd began offering recommendations.

The other captains, captains like Pyrak, were always liberal with their thoughts on the matter.

" _Oh look, 32 is making friends with the help again."_

_Pyrak probably can't even read._ This is what he'd tell himself despite knowing that to graduate the Youth Program you'd need to be fluent in the speaking and writing of both Common and Southern Tongue.

32 walks through the same patch of greenery from this morning. He notices the bench where he was earlier perched with Ytvl. Perhaps he'd been too hasty… An ally in the south would have made things run smoother today at the meeting. Sure, he would never trust Ytvl, but to have an insider is common practice amongst the captains; someone to give him updates from the other side, someone who could gath-

_No, it's a fool's errand._

He pushes the thought away. It's best to keep his head down and do what he needs to do himself. 32 presses his lips into a thin line. He only has two days to master this technique. Tomorrow, he's going to have to ask one of the captains for assistance or else he really will fail the order.

* * *


	2. The Boiler

_This is it_ , 32 summarizes. _I need to ask someone._

He desperately needs assistance with the Boiler technique.

_Where to start…_

Before him is a war zone of ravenous beings. Rows of soldiers sit as they slurp, gnaw, and inhale the Refectory's finest cuisine (which isn't fine at all, and more akin to something already been digested). He eyes the room, and as 32 loiters he finds that the various captains are dotted between the regular soldiers for the most part, mostly sticking to their company or division. Of course, as expected of the older captains, they've chosen to dine at a private table of their own, away from the lower classes as if being close to them would infect them with something most terrible.

32 walks by with a crinkled expression. The carnage that accompanies the mad food rush is always enough to make him arrive either very early to the servings, or very late, although skipping food together is always an equally pleasant option.

32 can tell that some of the captains are still unhappy with Lord Hailer's decision to have him execute Vegeta. They either choose to avoid his line of sight, or opt to stare him down most likely in a bid to psyche him out. It's preferable over Pyrak's maniacal grin. He likes to flash it at 32 whenever he gets the opportunity, as if to remind him that time is ticking down.

And then there's the other captain, the Northern one who'd wanted to make a truce –and now the one who now likes to pretend that they'd never even crossed paths in the first place. 32 frowns. If Captain Ytvl knows the Boiler technique then 32 has the impression that he wouldn't want to help anyway; that ship has long since sailed.

When 32 takes a seat with a portion of his own, he can't help but let his gaze wander over Ytvl's way; the guy is just _bad_ news.

Frustrated, he stabs at a nameless meat with his knife before pushing the tray away. It tastes like shit anyway.

32 stays only for a short while longer, surveying and mentally reviewing candidates for who he could approach, because it really doesn't take long for the cluster of knuckle-dragging morons and their masters to piss him off.

Evidently looking foul, soldiers dart out of his way as he makes his way out of the canteen. He's now wearing his captain's uniform and badge so there's no mistaking rank today. Some salute, even the Northern cannon fodder who line the walls like well-behaved guard dogs -albeit some do so with a level of discomfort and with ugly scowls smeared across equally ugly faces.

God, 32 hates them all.

Feeling irritated, he has to force himself not to retire to his room and open a bottle of liquor or pop a pill. With very little time to master the Boiler he can't waste his time with recreation. He should have asked for help long before now. Damn his stubborn nature –damn his incessant need to do everything himself.

Just as he's about to make his way back to the training room he is stopped by a gloved hand.

"Captain 32," greets another captain. She's the one from the meeting. 32 remembers her because of the great big scar slashed across her face. She is a tall woman, defined by her rigid muscles and many scars and burly nature. "We had the… pleasure yesterday."

He doesn't know her name.

"Captain Tapi," she then introduces. The hand grasps his before he has time to pull away, and she gives it a violent shake.

"What can I do for you… Captain Tapi?" 32 returns his arm to his side, wary.

The crows-feet adjourning her eyes crinkle as she laughs at his expression. "Cautious! Good! You should be around here." She considers him with a rigid sort of look. "Are you still trying to perform the Boiler?"

Well, at least she doesn't beat around the bush. "I am."

"Is it… going well?"

His lips move on their own accord. "Yes, it's going well."

He's angry at his own mouth for betraying him like this. _Lies, lies, lies!_ Yet, he can't bring himself to be honest. This seems like the perfect opportunity to request assistance with the technique –she's right there, seemingly offering her help, yet his stupid lips won't cooperate.

Captain Tapi's own lips form a little 'o', and her brows rise in mild surprise. She seems to believe him and in result 32 is torn between being relieved or furious at himself. He wants her to question him, wants her to push him into admitting that it's not going well at all.

In fact, it's going so poorly that he'd managed to burn all the left side of his arm in his attempts.

"It's a very difficult technique, and although they won't admit it, most of the captains can't in fact perform it or at the very least, can't perform it well," she adds, offering ample opportunity for 32 to get over himself.

But because he hates himself he refuses to give her an inch. "Don't trouble yourself. I'm managing fine."

"It's no trouble for me to assi-"

"I'm capable."

The lines stretched across leathery skin crinkles when she regards him, making the edges of her pointed face appear ever sharper. "The execution must go without a hitch, Captain. Can you guarantee that?"

And even the smallest bit of temptation to ask her disappears. His stomach twists in indignation. How dare she look down on him? She doesn't even know him.

Smoothly, 32 replies. "Is that all, Captain?"

She seems to finally get the message. Her expression grows impassive as she straightens herself out. "Yes. Well, you can reach me via the Scouter Communication Line should you need anything." She taps her shiny red scouter atop her eye: it's an older model than his as is usually the case in the North.

32 nods again and she takes her cue to leave.

As she disappears around the corner, 32 nearly throws his fist through the concrete wall.

_Goddamn it._

* * *

He's shy of exhausted the next morning.

Last night had been spent in its entirety in his attempts in learning the Boiler. Luckily that meant that he was too tired for the usual bout of nightmares.

The luck only stretches so far, because in their place, burns streak down his arms from his practice sessions of producing the technique. 32 knows that he can't put off going to the infirmary any longer despite the desire to ignore the festering wounds. As tempting as it may be there's no doubt that Lord Hailer would be incredibly pissed off if his executioner is covered head to toe in nasty red burns on the big day.

When 32 arrives at the medic unit, the doctors apply a salve and pass him a bottle of painkillers. On his way out, he is so unimpressed with the dosage that he's quick to throw the bottle in the bin. He's had candy that packs more of a punch. What's the point?

It's frustrating, he thinks as he opens the door to the training chamber, because he's actually very good with utilizing energy so all this faff with medicine and salve is foreign to him.

He's always been decent with ki manipulation too. His own ki attacks are rather powerful, and he enjoys applying energy theory when aiming to improve his skills –the only part of training he actually likes if only down to the science of it.

The Boiler is different however. It takes a type of control that 32 admits he doesn't quite have. Practicing meditation is a key contributor to improving the Boiler technique; this is due to the control needed to maintain the temperature and consistency of the flame, and whilst 32 isn't terrible at mediation he's always hated it. It gives him a headache, and when he's too deep into his mind… well, he wanders. And then… he remembers things most unwelcome.

He remembers them-

Banishing the thought, he rubs his face with his two salved-up hands.

A sigh leaves him, and then he practices the technique once again.

Hours pass with only more burns being added to his arms and face to show for his efforts. Licks of red now stripe down his neck and he can feel the blisters forming. Annoyingly, it means he'll have to wear the high-neck uniform and his furs tomorrow.

He can control the fire's temperature now at least, but it's only enough to either make it scalding hot or lukewarm. The magic middle ground he needs to hit seems to be out of reach, and time is fast running out. With the execution set to be less than a day away he tries not to panic.

When the fire bursts into an explosion of smaller flames he grows ever more discouraged.

32 allows himself a moment and then tries again and again, and then again until the smell of burning flesh starts to hurt his throat.

It's early evening by the time he allows himself a break. Food is a must by this point as his hands are shaking so violently that when he tries to perform The Boiler the fire becomes comically wobbly. He showers and changes first, applying the salve the doctor gave him straight after as instructed.

Sore, tired, and pissed off, he drags himself back to the training chamber after he eats a pitiful meal of soggy vegetables and meat. The possibility of contacting Captain Tapi for help is diminished when he finds out that she's been called away on business with Lord Cooler before the execution.

As he passes through the elevator lobby on his way to the training chamber, he notices something curious near the furthest lift section. No-one stands present despite the lights over the doorway flickering between red and white. The usual hum of electricity is now replaced with a drawn out beeping.

32 recognizes it as the lift he took yesterday, the one leading down to the pits where Vegeta is being held, and so he's quick to act. He wrenches the lift up until he can crawl beneath it, falling with great speed until he reaches the bottom. Here, he finds utter chaos.

He's surprised to find it busier than last time. There are guards dashing between rooms, some covered in the varied colours of blood. Many of the non-fighting soldiers have taken refuge under desks, or are pushing past 32 to get up to the lifts.

"What's going on?" 32 then demands of a soldier. It's one of the head-guards if his diverse colour of uniform is anything to go by. The guard's eye drops to 32's captain's badge and relief seems to sweep over him.

"Vegeta powered up, Captain" the guard explains as calmly as he can, but the rapid fluctuations of his chest betray him. "It tripped the power and several of the doors to the cells became unlocked."

"Including Vegeta's?"

"No, thank Lord Frost," he says, narrowly avoiding another guard coming his way. "But several of the prisoners managed to break free; luckily they didn't get further than here."

Just as 32 is about to ask why they didn't put an alert out, he quickly realizes that they're trying to avoid creating a scene before the big execution.

Clicking his tongue, he brushes a hand through his hair. Really. How can they be so incompetent?

"I don't have time for this. How many prisoners need returning to their cells?"

"I think… I think we're okay now -with the prisoners at least. But, Captain, if you could… The generator in Vegeta's cell is down and I don't think any of the guards dare face him alone."

32 knows it must look like he's sucked about thirty lemons at what the guard is asking him. Still, he gestures an arm forward. "By all means, lead the way."

The route to the destination is even more chaotic than the lobby. Blood splatters don the walls and 32 notices the body of an unlucky prisoner being shrouded in a black sheet. Some of the guards remember to salute him as he passes them in the corridors, whilst the others who don't recognize him or see his badge continue cleaning up the fallen debris. It seems that despite the riot being short it was pretty violent.

Wailing sounds from some of the cells, and swearing in a diversity of languages is being shouted at him as he passes by. The noise finally dies down as they reach the restricted section of the holding unit, the one 32 had snuck into only yesterday.

"It's just Vegeta in there so he couldn't have had any help," the guard says to him as he types a number into the keypad. It hadn't been locked yesterday, how strange. Perhaps Vegeta is a worse prisoner than originally imagined. "It should have been impossible for his energy to even affect the power like it did, sir."

When they enter the familiar cell it looks completely fine for the most part. It's as disgustingly dark and dingy as yesterday, with a smell unrivaled by even the worst sewers 32's unfortunately seen. Yet, he can see that _something_ must have happened. The bars and glass covering the cell look even more worn out than before, with the glass in ruptured piles of shards.

Thankfully, the lights are in working order at least. But they now run dim in an attempt to most likely conserve energy. The beeping can't be heard in the restrictive section, and it would have been silent if not for the loud panting from the man in the corner. The man, Vegeta, sits, sweat pouring down his face. His eyes glow with livid energy.

When he looks up, 32 holds the steel.

_If looks could kill._

"Like fuck am I being killed by the Boiler," is the first thing Vegeta says to him, his voice gravelly and strained. "I demand Cooler, or Hailer, or whatever Frost bastard is in charge to come see me."

"You're not one for making demands anymore, Vegeta" the guard snaps, hitting at the bars with his palm. "You've made a real fucking mess out there!"

Vegeta smirks as more sweat slides down his face. He looks exhausted.

"The guard needs to examine the generator in your cell," 32 finally says, "and you're going to let him."

"Oh, it's the boy wonder," Vegeta greets. "I've got no shit for you today. I am very sorry."

For being locked up in a prison cell, Vegeta seems to be doing better than most. He's kept his arrogant attitude unfortunately -and even worse; it also seems the prince's famous sense of entitlement is as strong as ever.

32 and the guard takes a step towards the cell at the exact time Vegeta draws closer. "Come in and I'll kill you both."

"In your state?" 32 chides, "I believe you've just wasted a majority of your energy trying to power up. These cells are coated in sheenks, a substance that zaps and absorbs ki over long periods of time. The entire cell block is covered in this rockery. If you do attack all you're going to do is waste both of our time and I'll be forced to force feed you so much sheenks you really _won't_ be able to defecate." 32 clicks his tongue. "And look, what little power you've been able to grasp is already leaving you."

The guard hits the bars again, hard enough that it rattles. "So be a good boy, Vegeta, and let us do our jobs."

32 wants to stuff some sheenks down this guard's throat too. What an absolute idiot.

With humour, 32 notices that Vegeta looks like he wants to do the same thing. Less funny, the saiyan says; "If he comes in I'll happily rip him in half."

 _I don't have time for this_.

32 instructs the guard to punch in Vegeta's cell code. The guard does but looks wary about it. And then, there's soft swooping of the door just before 32 steps into the cell, head held high. Vegeta doesn't move straight away but as soon as he does, 32 gruffly pushes him down onto his makeshift bed.

There's not much of a rebuttal. Energy-starved, Vegeta attempts to push back. But it seems the prince's arms have become limp after so much exposure to sheenks.

The guard slithers past Vegeta and 32 and scurries over to the generator. Minutes pass and the guy still isn't done.

"That looks like it hurts," 32 hears Vegeta sneer beneath the grip.

He's confused at first, but notices Vegeta's beady eyes staring at the burns stretched across his neck. They probably look inflamed and hideous because Vegeta is right, they hurt like hell.

32 ignores him but tightens his grip so not to encourage Vegeta to get the wrong idea. No attempts of stupidity are welcome today.

"'They practicing on you?" Vegeta asks with spite, his shoulders jutting against 32's sore hands. "Those burns are from the Boiler, right? I remember what they look like."

32 doesn't contain himself, his tone sharp and nasty. "I'm sure you remember performing it too."

"Of course I fucking do. Except I wouldn't practice it on other soldiers, I didn't think this shit stain company could sink any lower but here we are."

Confused, 32 furrows his brows before realising what Vegeta is suggesting. He looks down to see that his coat had lowered over his captain's badge when he'd grabbed the prince. And so, bitterly, 32 breathes an amused sort of snort and shuffles his insignia free.

He watches Vegeta put the pieces together in his head with morbid curiousity, spectating as the man realises he's standing before his maker. Vegeta appears stunned if only briefly, but it then quickly turns to disgust.

"They're sentencing me to death by a rookie captain who can't even perform the Boiler. You're joking."

"I wouldn't say that I'm a rookie."

"Then you're an embarrassment."

"More so than the one being executed?"

"You'll have your turn, you sniveling, little snot."

The venom in Vegeta's voice would be enough to curdle poison, and it makes 32 feel angry that the prince thinks he deserves anything more than the worst of the worst after all the shit he's pulled. 32 has read the files, he knows all of the monster's misdeeds, knows how much he would have enjoyed it. The man is the devil himself, and killing him may be one of the only dutiful things 32 will ever do. He may actually do society a favour.

"You're as disposable as the rest," the prince goes on to say. "You're a mere pawn."

"I'm a lot more than that," but 32 doesn't elaborate. He doesn't feel the need to brag about his _accomplishments_ to the prince. But equally, Vegeta is unlikeable and 32 wants to make him hurt just a little and so adds; "I'll be the captain who kills Prince Vegeta."

When the prince's shoulders give an aggressive thrust forward 32 knows he's touched a nerve.

"What a foul bootlicker you are. I can see that really much hasn't changed. There are always ass-kissers ready to serve the empire. You're just fodder. Want to know what'll happen to you if you continue groveling to your owners?" He spits. "You'll be used to clean their dirty messes, told to kill some no-good rebels -kill whoever they fucking want you to. And for what?"

"Are you talking from experience, Vegeta?" 32 lowly says. "Do you only want to kill for yourself? Cut out the middle man?"

"Don't play pious with me," he growls, "not when I know what you must have done to earn your rank."

32 tilts his head. "I'm sure you'd know."

"I do, and I know how to deliver a decent Boiler without burning half of my skin off. Never would Frieza have let a rookie like you dream of performing it." There's a click of a tongue, derisive. "Maybe the organization is going downhill after all..."

32 doesn't say anything to that. Maybe it is –there have been slow declinations in the Frost Empire's growth for some time now.

"All done, Captain," announces the guard nearer the generator.

The saiyan prince glares up with such ferocity that the heat could be felt radiating from him. 32 wants to say something cruel in that moment, he wants to hurt Vegeta more.

Instead, Vegeta says something. "I'll be back."

It's morose but 32 finds the comment amusing. "Really?"

"And when I return you'll be the first I kill."

… _Ha_.

32 releases Vegeta, and is surprised when the man doesn't make a move to hit or grab him. He leaves the cell and closes the door behind him, and this time he does spare a final look at Vegeta. He's somewhat surprised to see that the man isn't looking at him any longer, but instead down at the floor. The glare slips from his face and into something more... anguished.

It's a private moment, 32 quickly realizes; one he regrets seeing.

He slams the outer door behind him.

_Don't you dare look like that._

The files he's read about the price, the sneers of arrogance, and the body count: these are the things he'll choose to remember tomorrow morning when he performs the Boiler.

* * *

32 vomited three times last night.

Two times were in the training chamber, where he'd hunched in a corner and expelled what little food he'd eaten that day. This was his reward after performing The Boiler to a respectable temperature. And then, the final time was in the middle of the night after one of those… dreams.

 _Release my_ _power, roared_ the voice in his dream. And then he did …in the form of vomit, all over the bathroom floor when he didn't make it to the toilet in time.

_You are not worthy. RELEASE MY POWER._

The words always haunt him in the morning. Spiraling dizziness often follows, and the pain; pain in his head, his stomach –his _chest_. Sometimes the pain seemed to expel from deep within the inner core of his body, where his natural energy lay, and the feeling of unease would flow free.

In other words, he'd feel wrong.

Today is one of those days; a day where he just feels _wrong_ , unnatural even.

"What a day for this," 32 complains as he cradles his head.

He still has a few hours before the execution, thank God.

32 knows he needs to look respectable and not like a burn-victim with a migraine. So he steps over the puddle of vomit he'd attempted to clean last night, and stumbles into the shower. The water is then set to a cool temperature as not to upset his many burns, ones which flurry in waves along the skin. The salve worked well enough yesterday but angry blotches of red still remain and they're sore to the touch.

Breakfast is a quick affair, all in all because 32 can barely stomach a single bite without feeling queasy. Also, it proves unusually lively in the Refectory; another off-put. Despite the ruckus of being chosen as Vegeta's executioner, and the drama that had followed, it seems that the news of his being chosen is now common knowledge, and so, many soldiers suddenly feel that it's okay to approach 32.

"Make it hurt!" one nameless soldier says.

"He's gonna' cry like a bitch!"

"Damn, 32, fucking get you."

Another soldier simply passes by and squeezes 32's shoulder. 32 damn near chokes on his food from the shock of it.

"Well, doesn't it feel festive in 'ere?"

He doesn't need to look up to know it's Pyrak looming above him. With the ambition of having his breakfast in sombre solitude forgotten, 32 flourishes a hand gesturing for Pyrak to sit down. He may as well, considering his morning is already ruined.

Pyrak smirks at the action, not a stranger to 32's sarcasm, and takes the seat opposite.

32 forces himself to eat a mouthful of vegetables and speaks around it, "what do you want?"

"Did ya learn the Boiler? Bets are on. I've got money on ya that you don't even perform it. I reckon that you're gonna' piss ya knickers."

32 wants to punch him in his pointy face.

Instead, 32 swallows his food and sips on his water with nonchalance. The action of smacking his lips makes Pyrak's gaze darken, and it brings glee to 32 because he's already in such a bad mood as it is. He then sighs and regards the glass of water with feigned interest. "Are you still upset you weren't chosen?"

"I'm not upset," Pyrak says quickly.

"Of course you're not."

"I couldn't give two shits."

"…Mmm, _obviously_."

Pyrak leans in over the table and knocks the water out of 32's hands. It clatters before smashing, but it's just white noise amongst the hustle and bustle of the canteen and no one pays them any mind. "When you fuck it up today, and ya will, just know that I could have performed the Boiler fucking spectacularly." He gives 32 an up and down. "Ugh, _pathetic_ … even Lord Hailer couldn't look past your pretty face to make the right choice, could 'e? Gotta' make an impression for the cameras after all."

32 feels his lips threaten to curl, and he has to force himself not to react. Instead, he leans in close.

"Pyrak, do you really want to cause a scene on Lord Hailer's _special_ day?" 32 then whispers in promising tones, dark and tight, jaw clenching. After a pause; "no? Then do us both a favour and back the _fuck_ off, before you embarrass the both of us."

Pyrak purses his lips and contemplates his next actions. For a moment 32 believes the brute might actually take a swing at him, but then Pyrak's chair pushes back with a loud screech.

Waves of the other captain's furs follow him as he turns and leaves 32 without so much of a lingering stare. The quiet fury of it is alarming, unnerving really, and 32 can't help but feel that he hasn't heard the last from him on this.

32, relieved of it for now, turns back to the humble stack of food atop his plate. It's not a reassuring sight, and the pittance of 32's of it looks sourer than ever. He pushes the tray away. After that display he's _really_ not hungry.

That asshole always knows how to make things worse.

Pyrak has always disliked him since day one. The first time they'd met had been in the Youth Program many years ago, some foggy time from 32's childhood he struggles to recall half of the time. What 32 does know is that Pyrak must be at least three or four years older than him; he's always towered over 32 like the thug that he is, wide and burly and with enough power to dominate all the weaker soldiers. 32, on the other hand, remains his complete antithesis. Where Pyrak is loud, 32 is quiet, and where Pyrak is brash and cruel, 32 is reserved and… well, it's not like 32 _can't_ be cruel. He can be, and whilst he enjoys the merriment of a barbed insult he doesn't relish in it like Pyrak does.

The guy's a beast, a beast that'd been stationed alongside 32 on planet Central as an acting captain. For the three years 32 has had to deal with Pyrak's sniping, rivalry and, worst of all, the closeness forced upon the both of them in the expectation of their cooperation. Lord Hailer always likes to pair them together, which must be out of sheer spite because it's the worst kept secret that the two hate one another.

Nastily, 32 wishes it were Pyrak's head on the chopping block instead of Vegeta's. Or better yet, 32 could burn both of them. No doubt that they deserve it.

Feeling somewhat inspired, he rises and discards his tray of food. Today he'll do his duty and prove his naysayers wrong. Fuck them all.

As he walks free of the Refectory, 32 feels the weight of being watched, Pyrak's gaze the weightiest of them all.

* * *

The chosen facility for the execution is the Grand Hall. Of course it's the Grand Hall. Lord Hailer and Lord Cooler wouldn't shirk something like the grounds for Prince Vegeta's execution off with anything less than magnificent.

Like frost, crystal pieces decorate the ceiling with dazzling and wintery effect. Majestic, if just a little gaudy, the trickles of gems fall in great amounts. They loom over the room so high above that you could stack ten men and still not reach them. Bright, they're the shining glory of the space and would steal the attention if not for the stage set in the centre of the room.

The only lighting around the stage is born from a selection of candles. They dot around the hall, imprisoning the darkness with such a haunting affect that 32 feels the need to swallow a bout of growing anxiety. Against the candles, the dark curtains cover any windows and blend into the already darkly papered walls. It's as if the room is ready to swallow 32 up.

But he won't let that happen. Head raised high, he marches along the marble.

The Grand Hall is already full of spectators. Lines of soldiers are positioned precisely as to look perfectly uniform, standing to face the stage where the execution is to be performed. The low murmur of chattering sounds out as 32 reaches the stage. Two thrones have been placed to the right of the stage as to be in a good range of the performance, ready for both Frost lords to have an enjoyable viewing experience.

Neither Lord Hailer nor Cooler have arrived yet so the thrones lay bare. 32 takes his position beside the throne on the right, Lord Hailer's. It isn't long until the Northern captain Ytvl appears and stands beside the throne on the left. There's no acknowledgement between the two. They both simply stare at the stage in expectation.

The stage itself is simple. It's wooden with only a small square indent where Vegeta will be placed and locked down.

The crowd falls silent and 32 knows that this must mean the lords are arriving. Sure enough, the two enter the hall together as they share a quiet conversation. When they reach the stage, Lord Cooler offers both captains a curt nod and Lord Hailer's lips twitch into something resembling a shady smile. Both captains bow their heads and the lords take a seat beside their respective captains.

"Bring him in," Lord Cooler instructs Ytvl. Ytvl bows his head before disappearing out of a side door closer to the stage. A wave of nausea washes over 32 knowing that he's only moments away from performing the Boiler.

Suddenly, a small device with rotating wings soars past 32 and hovers above the stage. It takes a moment for 32 to register that he's currently looking at a camera, one ready to film the execution live… and possibly ready to catch him in the act of failing to kill Vegeta.

_No, don't think that. I've practiced. I can do this._

Lord Hailer stands. He's wearing a formal armour-set today much like 32. 32's own armour set, beneath his furs, reflects the same dull blue as Lord Hailer's.

"Loyal soldiers," Lord Hailer begins, addressing the crowds and then the camera, "individuals across the many Frost-ruled planets, rebels, and all those in between, I welcome you today to watch a very special event.

For many years, a culprit has escaped our clutches and sullied the great Frost name. Many of you may recognize his face, and many of you may recognize the hardships he has brought to our cause. Today, we are going to rectify his wrongs and bring justice to the Frost family, and to our dearly departed brother, Lord Frieza. The injustice of Lord Frieza's murder has plagued a many of us, and for a regretful amount of time now we've been unable to rectify this evil deed, one which sullied the great Frost name, and with it, all of you who serve it.

Lord Frieza was murdered. He was murdered by what this individual, _Prince_ _Vegeta_ , represents. And so today is the start of a new opportunity for us, an opportunity to be rid of our universe's worst scourge. We are going to finish what Lord Frieza started."

32 surveys the room in anticipation for their reaction.

"We are going to execute every remaining saiyan alive."

Chatter erupts, bursting from small groups all around the hall. 32 sees the varied reactions, some of shock and some of discomfort, yet for the most part none dare show their true feelings. Lord Hailer allows them a moment but holds up a hand in order to move on, hushing them into a quick silence.

"So what constitutes being a saiyan?" Lord Hailer finally continues, booming over the silence. "Simple, it would be an individual with higher than 25% genetic coding from saiyan heritage. Any person falling into this lineage will be destroyed."

There is a pause, and the silence is deafening. 32 knows that many of these soldiers will have to be genetically tested.

"This race has plagued us enough!" Lord Hailer roars, cutting through the tension. His furs dramatically flow behind him as he gestures to the side door. "Today we end this foul race, starting at the very top! We bring to you… Prince Vegeta, prince of the saiyan race."

And sure enough, Captain Ytvl appears with Vegeta in tow. The prince looks truly drained. He's ghost white, clammy (most likely from the exposure of sheenks), and has the look of a dead-man walking. Ytvl drags the prince by the arm and thrusts him onto the stage. The camera buzzes around frantically; zooming in and out on Vegeta's thunderous face as the crowd hisses their obscenities at him. The sinking feeling in 32's stomach worsens when the camera then pans onto him.

Vegeta is then hoisted into the square indention in the floor. It's coated in sheenks, and due to Vegeta's overexposure to the substance it will be effective in keeping the prince still during the execution. Whilst Vegeta looks tired he doesn't appear scared; his eyes are murderous –they don't leave Lord Hailer's.

"Prince Vegeta" Lord Cooler greets, "how courteous of you to join us."

"Fuck off, you great slimy lizard," Vegeta wheezes. In result, Ytvl backhands Vegeta so hard that he actually spins around. Vegeta, huffing, then eyes the captain with renewed repugnance before spitting out a blob of fresh, red blood.

"Tch, such a foul mouth," Lord Hailer comments, eyes alive with amusement. His tail flickers out as he takes his seat between Lord Cooler and 32. His loyal audience laughs, hungry for more violence as they applaud their master. Their sick yearning for Vegeta's blood makes 32's skin crawl, especially knowing he's about to feed their desire. Such pigs.

Lord Hailer's flourishing hand lets 32 know it's time to start the show. His stomach sinks as he steps forward to where Vegeta kneels on the ground. The prince spits more blood right in front of 32's boots.

32 sneers and retreats a polished boot. If one of 32's soldiers did this then he would give them a swift kick to the face. But it's not. It's Vegeta's last bout of defiance.

"The Northern soldiers brought in this worthless excuse of a prince," Lord Cooler tells the crowds, "but together, with our Southern brothers, we will bring his existence to an end."

Lord Hailer leans back into his throne and continues, "One of my own Southern captains will perform the execution today. Captain 32, named so in accordance to his Youth Program number, will execute Prince Vegeta using the technique known colloquially as the Boiler, one which has been a staple of our fine institution long before any of us present were even conceived. Traditional and vengeful, I see no better end for Prince Vegeta's story other than such a regal execution method."

 _Yes…_ 32 struggles keeping his nerves steady. _Yes, he deserves this. Lord Hailer is right._

Vegeta looks up at 32, and then sees the camera. Blood still dribbles down his chin as he grins darkly. "Do your worst, boy."

_He's a monster._

32's eyes narrow. The churning in his stomach is making him feel sick, and the urge to vomit keeps coming and going in waves.

_It'll be the best thing I ever do._

"Any last words, Vegeta?" Lord Cooler offers.

"Just fucking do it" Vegeta growls pointedly. His eyes never leave 32's.

Lord Cooler chuckles heartily. "Then commence, Captain!"

32 feels his mouth go dry and his palms sweat beneath his gloves. The heat from his burns suddenly feel unbearable, as though they know they're about to be scorched again. He raises his arm regardless, his own furs sliding down, and readies the flame. It dances softy in his palm, the heat slowly building as the technique requires. The crowd is silent, eagerly awaiting Vegeta's screams.

The fire builds and builds until the flames licking at 32's wrists hurt enough for it to be considered hot, but not hot enough to burn.

His eyes find Vegeta's anxious ones. They close in anticipation.

 _He looks ready_.

The flames leak from his palm.

_He looks ready to die._

32 finally shoots the Boiler with perfect aim. Some part of him registers the camera zooming in on the attack, but he's so focused on the technique that he can't afford his concentration being thwarted. Apprehensive, but cautiously optimistic that the attack is the right temperature, 32 watches as the fire swallows Vegeta.

It takes him greedily, lapping over the man and carving into where it must hurt.

The prince's eyes burst open in anguish, and just as he's about to scream –everything turns white.

At first, 32 thinks it is just him –that he's the only one that's been blinded. But shrieks sound from the crowd, and he hears Lord Hailer snarl out a command. Just as he's about to attempt to heed the order, a sharp pain explodes in his gut and he falls to his knees.

The feeling of someone's fist leaving his stomach isn't foreign to 32, and so he reaches out and tries to grab the offender. For his effort 32 is struck another time across the face, and kicked so hard that he flies free from the stage and into a wall. He feels the concrete shake and crack upon impact.

_Sh-Shit._

He's still blinded by whiteness, and 32 hopes in mild panic that it isn't permanent. Nearby, an explosion erupts and 32 feels the shockwaves rolling off from where he thinks the stage is. The chaos of fighting sounds around him. All the surrounding hitches of energy trigger his scouter into action, recording the jumping of many nearby power levels with frenzied beeping. Together with the yowling of alarms it makes it harder for 32 to get his bearings.

32 can also hear soldiers ushering each other out of the building or towards the chaos. It gives 32 the impression that either the blindness has worn off for them, or is at least currently wearing off because he still can't see anything.

Is it a bomb? Some kind of explosive they've never heard of before?

Is it a specialized attack?

Blotches of colour finally start returning, but his head hurts so much now that it's practically impossible to focus. The first thing he makes out is the stage –or rather, what's left of it. The Boiler's goliath fire must have spread during the attack, overwhelming everything in its path and growing into the goliath monster which it has now become.

Lord Cooler and Lord Hailer are long gone, vanishing in the commotion. As 32 runs back to the stage the fire continues to grow, hungrier and greedier than ever. Waspish flames tickle his flesh; hitting the burns and making them ache more than ever. He bears it well, pushing away offending soldiers who dare get in his way as he looks for the source of the attack.

That's when 32 notices the lack of smoke filling the room. The mystery is soon solved when his bleary eyes advance up and watch the thick, smoldering clouds escape through a hole in the roof.

Through the density of smoke 32 sees the unmistakable flickering of vehicle lights.

_A spaceship?_

"Where's Vegeta?!" 32 thunders. "Where the hell is he?!" But none of the soldiers can hear him over the crackling of the flames. Debris falls from the ceiling and a puff of dust and ash make it near impossible for the men to navigate. They cough and wheeze as they struggle to break free.

They're useless to him, and he shoves each aside when they get in his way. He'll do this himself.

32 jumps up in a brisk movement, flying past the fire and onto the decaying roof of the Grand Hall. Smoke has ignited into flame behind him and it sears his previously earned burns even more. Agony courses down his arms.

"Where are you, you bastard?"

As he swivels atop the crumbling rooftop he's greeted with a crisp punch to the face. Honestly, he'd expected as much and so 32 takes the hit with stride, pulling the arm towards him and landing a powerful hit of his own. The perpetrator flies back and takes a nasty fall into the sharp tiles of the decaying structure. Flames swoop up and welcome the attacker with an orange, menacing hug.

_Fucking rebels, I bet._

32 turns back to the sky with frantic motion. He'd been right about seeing a spaceship. It's moderately sized and of a unique design, painted white and, most importantly, being used to load Prince Vegeta. Several people have surrounded the prince; they usher him forward through the doors.

32 narrows his eyes. They're not doing this on his watch.

As he charges forward towards the group, 32 can't get a good look beyond the thickening smoke; but it does appear as if Vegeta took the hit of the Boiler directly -he looks _charred_ \- so 32 doesn't worry too much about rebuttal.

He runs forward over the tiles and makes a jump for the ship.

Just as 32's about to make contact, a boot connects with his right cheekbone. He spirals down and crashes back into the roof. Intricate tiles catch him, cutting into his skin as he pistons deeper into the debris. He finally stops when he bounces against a girder. A shock of pain runs along his waist as the taste of metal fills his mouth.

From this sprawled position on the rooftop, 32 witnesses as, at this crucial moment, the spaceship launches itself backwards at a speed no soldier could compete with.

All 32 can do is watch morbidly as it ascends further and further away.

He rubs the cheek where he was kicked and the flash image of the assailant weighs heavy in his mind.

His eyes close as the fire heats up.

_You were supposed to be dead._

His attacker was supposed to have died in the explosion of planet Namek, the very same explosion that nearly took 32's own life. His eyebrows knit together, and he spits out the ever-growing mouthful of blood as he sits up.

_Well, fuck._

The ravenous fire of the Boiler below him burns on, casting a menacing red glow on the world around him.

It turns out there's yet another saiyan for Lord Hailer to be worried about.


	3. The Burnt

The smell of charred skin is so strong that Goku didn't want to sit next to Vegeta. The pungent aroma weaves around the cockpit of the ship, something which especially upsets Bulma, but she keeps her eyes forward, focusing on putting distance between them and the space station. And whilst Vegeta is wearing a brave face right now, Goku knows that the guy must be wrecked; his skin is bright pink, with the blistering being particularly bad in the creases between his head and neck.

Goku's sorry; he's _so_ sorry because they had not been fast enough, had not saved him in time. It looks so painful, and smells rancid, and Goku wouldn't wish this on anybody.

The ship slows down into a soft acceleration, and Bulma is the first person to approach Vegeta. She looks like she wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him but clearly knows better.

"Get back on the wheel, woman," Vegeta orders between wheezes. "They could be on us at any moment."

Vegeta's plight goes ignored and he seems to steam even more than he already he is.

Bulma raises a hand. "Goku, the senzu beans."

_Ah, yes! The senzu beans!_

He grapples along his waistband and feels for the small brown bag. It's light because they've already eaten at least over half now.

Vegeta snatches the bean and swallows it without so much of a hint of chewing. The effect is immediate. His body seems to throb in rejuvenation, bolstering as the pink swelling disappears in a flash. The circles beneath Vegeta's eyes don't leave however, and there's lethargy to the way Vegeta stands up and flexes his muscles.

Bulma reaches for him, but stubborn as ever, Vegeta jerks away, making her worry all the more. "What is it? What's wrong? Do you need another?"

"Don't touch me," he hisses, disgusted. "I'm weak. I- I'll need time to recover until I reach my full strength. They had me under sheenks."

_Sheenks?_

"A material used to supress one's natural power," Piccolo supplies, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. The cape he'd been wearing is now lying in a pile on the table, the ends of it slightly charred from the earlier flames.

Krillin, equally singed, blows a low whistle. "Man, there's been many a time we could have used something like that…"

"But there's none of that, uh, sheenks stuff around here, right? Goku queries, suddenly a little worried. He doesn't want _his_ ki drained. Vegeta looks like he can barely hold his own weight up.

"No, idiot, it was on the ship, in the holding cells."

"Oh. It's… it's not contagious, right?"

"Much like your stupidity, it cannot, thankfully, be transmitted."

"Then why didn't the senzu beans work?"

Vapid, Vegeta sends him a heated sort of look, saying little else.

Piccolo has an answer, at least. "Sheenks has an almost radiation-like effect, Goku. It takes time for the effects to wear off so it's difficult to say how long it'll reside in Vegeta's system after so much exposure. Senzu beans heal injuries, not symptoms. Hopefully, our mighty prince will be back to his _humble_ self soon, but it really depends on how much they used during his incarceration."

"Hold your tongue, Namek."

The namekian's eyes shift focus as his gaze falls upon their guests in the ship. A lip curls and he looks upon them with mounting mistrust. "What I _don't_ understand is why _you_ seemed eager to help us save Vegeta."

The question is aimed at Lya, who responds with very little reaction at all. She's the quiet presence hiding in the shadows of their reunion, a curious lady, one who'd been integral in their retrieval of Vegeta.

Goku understands Piccolo's distrust, however –she makes his gut do uncomfortable flips the longer he looks at her. Her face has this impassive default setting, something with is oddly discomforting, especially with that watery gaze of hers. It's as if she's not looking directly at you, but rather, through you, seeing something that isn't there. The porcelain sheen of her skin; the crop of silver hair, and her bleached tunic all blends together unnervingly, as if she'd been dunked in a vat of white paint and left out to dry. Goku is reminded of those creepy, ageless ceramics.

"I've been transparent on what I want," she replies simply.

Krillin scoffs beside Goku.

"Assistance," Lya clarifies, soft. Her finger rises in indolent gesture of him. "I want _your_ assistance to be precise, Goku Son."

Goku hums and scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, I know that much, but I'm not entirely sure what I can do to help you with your fight-thing."

" _You_ are the saiyan that killed Frieza. You are involved in this _war_. They are hunting you, both of you, and whatever offspring you may have produced, of course."

At this moment, Vegeta winces and they share a look. There's a point where he expects the other saiyan to comment, to deny her words, to contest her, but he doesn't, making Goku wonder what Vegeta must have heard during his time captured.

Weeks ago, it'd been a thin team of Goku, Bulma, Vegeta, Krillin and Piccolo stumbling across a desolate planet millions of miles west of Earth. King Kai had heard a rumour of some dragon balls being on this mystery planet, and so gave brief instructs on how to get there. Of course, Goku had then relayed these instructions back to Bulma, who didn't hesitate getting to work. She even managed to persuade Vegeta to come along for the ride. Piccolo and Krillin coming had been a given as they'd been completely supportive in Goku's ambition over the last nine or ten years.

When the Earth's dragon balls couldn't grant him his desired wish, Goku soon realized that options don't come quick and often and decided to jump at this opportunity. Maybe these new dragon balls work differently –like Namek's.

The planet had been a dud –a wild goose chase really. There had been no dragon balls there. But there had been a lot of fighters, ones wearing very familiar uniforms, and wanting nothing more than to hurt Goku and his friends. The soldiers, as Vegeta explained, were stronger than Goku remembered. None of them had held a candle to Goku, Vegeta, or even Piccolo, but Krillin had fell victim to many attackers.

It hadn't been Krillin's fault, not really. He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Spiralling and deadly, a wave of energy would have made contact with his friend had Vegeta not managed to push him out of the way in the nick of time. This gave opportunity, however, for one of the soldiers to ambush Vegeta in a sly attack. A hand had jutted the base of Vegeta's neck and he dropped down instantly, making him easy prey to be captured.

Goku hadn't noticed until it was too late.

Then this woman, Lya, had appeared, and said that she knew where they would have taken Vegeta. She'd then told them that she had "people on the inside" (whatever that meant), and that she'd get him out. In exchange, she'd only require Goku's assistance. It took days, but Lya fulfilled her promise.

During those days preparing to save Vegeta, Goku had come to learn more about the Frost Empire. He learned about Frieza and the dark history of his family, and how his brothers still reign over many planets and parts of the universe. And it'd only been yesterday when he learned that Vegeta was to face The Boiler, and what it even was. Lya had explained the intricacies, and Goku had never felt prouder of Bulma than in that moment for not breaking down.

She's holding Vegeta's hand right now with Vegeta not pulling away, finally relenting to giving her some affection. It gives Goku the impression of how horrible The Boiler truly must be.

"They asked me about you, Kakarot," Vegeta eventually says. His hand slips out of Bulma's grasp when everyone turns to look at him, but he doesn't shirk her away when she moves closer. "I don't know much about this wench, but she is right about one thing; they want our blood. More specifically, they want yours. You pissed off the Frost bastards something rotten with killing Frieza-dearest."

"Yeah, ten years ago," Piccolo quips. "Why do they want revenge now?"

The padding of boots approaching reminds Goku and the others that there's yet one more person aboard the ship. Whilst Lya is the brains, this man clearly is the brawn. Just as burnt and smouldering as the rest of them, the warrior is built thickly, impressive under the white and red of his armour, with a commanding presence to match. Even Goku can tell that this guy must be important, not that it matters much to him –he's just thankful that he'd been there to help secure his friend. This is the very man who'd stolen Vegeta from his own execution, the one Lya had called her 'insider', and the one Vegeta now owes his life to.

" _You,_ " Vegeta seethes from his chair. Bulma pushes him back down when he attempts to rise.

The man's smile is wide and would be about as shiny as his armour if not for the splotches of blood smeared across his teeth. Actually, now that Goku can see more clearly, there's a nasty cut just above his mouth and below his nose.

" _He_ saved your life, Vegeta," Bulma chides.

"After he served me up to Cooler and Hailer, that is!"

The man's smile slides into something less friendly and he points a gloved finger at Vegeta. "Take responsibility, you brainless monkey. After _you_ turned up on a trap planet, I couldn't come back empty handed. Lord Cooler would have been suspicious and I would have been forced to relinquish my position sooner than _you_ already forced me to!"

Lya places an alabaster hand on the man's chest, easing him back. She addresses the group and calmly presents the new fighter as, indeed, her 'one on the inside'. According to her, this guy has been working undercover in the Frost army for the last five years.

"Ytvl," the man introduces, extending his hand. He flinches just as Goku goes to shake it and swaps it for his other hand. "Sorry, I think I fractured it punching that bastard in the face."

He wonders absently who Ytvl is talking about as he grasps the hand. They shake candidly but Goku struggles to get a read on him, much like Lya. As much as the man seems pleasant, there's a strange aura about him Goku doesn't like.

"I'm quite the fan," Ytvl goes on to praise, indifferent to Goku's discomfort, "Frieza was a fucking asshole."

"Yet you serve his brother."

" _Vegeta_ ," Bulma chides once again.

Lya steps forward, her face a sheet of impassive ice. But Goku thinks she might be frustrated with the prince's attitude, and he would be too considering the effort they went through to retrieve him. "He's one of my men, _not_ Cooler's."

Vegeta scoffs. "Well, maybe you should have a long chat with him because he seemed a little _too_ convincing to me."

"If I'd been anything but loyal up until today then you wouldn't even be here," Ytvl defends. "In fact, Vegeta, because you were too stupid to break out of the holding cell during the power outage I'd arranged for you, I had to forfeit my position as Lord Cooler's First Captain."

Vegeta's expression shifts between realisation, embarrassment and then anger.

"That's how much we want your assistance, Goku" Lya interjects. "Ytvl has been ousted just so we could secure Vegeta for you, to earn your trust."

Goku stares between Lya and Ytvl, pausing to think through his options. He doesn't really have time to be caught up in all of this; he has his own mission…

"Well, I think it's a bit more than that," Bulma says, finally adding her two pence. She crosses a knee over the other and leans forward. "It wouldn't look good for Vegeta to be executed on live TV, or whatever you guys have, would it? I imagine seeing a figurehead like Vegeta being murdered would hurt your cause. It would have been a heck of a power trip for the Frost Empire, huh?"

Lya considers her. "You're not wrong. That did… factor in too."

"Sorry to burst your bubble but Vegeta is more than, what did you call him, a _figure_ _head_?" Ytvl questions lightly. He's nursing his hand now, doing little stretches and twirls with his wrist. Cracking can be heard beneath the glove –it's dislocated, Goku can tell. "He was a soldier, and remembered very much as one."

The defence came from a surprising place.

"But he's different now," Krillin says with purpose. "He's changed."

Goku then remembers that it had been Vegeta who'd saved Krillin not long ago, back on that decoy planet, back when Ytvl had tried to capture them all.

Ytvl's face lights up in amusement but he doesn't say anything, instead continuing to crack his wrist.

Lya speaks. "Goku-"

But Goku cuts her off, raising his hands. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I'm thankful you helped save Vegeta but we have our own… task."

"And that was why you were lured to the Frost decoy planet?" Ytvl asks. "You were looking for dragon balls, right? For this _task_?"

"And what do you know of the dragon balls?" Piccolo questions. His gaze is dark and challenging.

Ytvl snorts, finally finishing with his hand exercises. "I know that Hailer and Lord Cooler started rumours about the decoy planet, hoping to draw outsiders looking for dragon balls. I often had to bring in these explorers, such as yourselves, to be extorted for information or be killed."

"Information like what?"

"Like the lead on any _other_ dragon balls."

"Oh, they're looking for _them_ ; the Namekian dragon balls." Goku doesn't catch Krillin's wide-eyed plea to censor himself in time. "New Namek."

Ytvl clicks his fingers, confirming it. "New Namek."

" _Goku_!" Bulma snaps.

"Oh. I wasn't supposed to say that, right?"

"You think?"

The ex-captain looks like Christmas has come early. "Yes, the Frost Empire has been trying to track it down for some years now. Here I thought the Namekian dragon balls had been a myth."

In an instance, Piccolo rushes forward, looking as though he wants to grab Ytvl and throw him off board. He doesn't, instead opting to jab a finger into the man's armour. "Do they know where it is?"

Ytvl, brave in the face of the angriest namekian he's probably ever seen, snorts, far too amused by all the dramatics. "Of course not, otherwise they'd already be there."

"Now, that's the truth," Vegeta confirms, and so Piccolo calms.

"Goku Son, do… you know where New Namek is?" Lya asks, voice so quiet that he has to strain to hear. "Do you know its location?"

"Er… Not exa-"

"No, he doesn't," Bulma answers for him.

"And neither do we," Krillin adds.

"Not that we'd tell you," Vegeta viciously continues, adding salt.

Piccolo grunts, arms tightening into a knot above his chest.

A beat of silence passes and Lya closes her eyes, a new crease forming between polished brows. Ytvl, in contrast, openly laughs at them.

"What a merry band of interracial friends you all are."

"Be quiet, Ytvl."

Ytvl strains his knuckles again, popping individual fingers, eyes bright with amusement as Lya's grave disposition contrasts his own. His lips remain together, pulled into a crooked smile as his superior talks.

"If we used the dragon balls, it would be much easier to stop Hailer and Cooler," Lya tells them, addressing each person in the room individually. "We could finally put an end to the Frost Empire once and for all. We could end their reign and be done with their tyranny."

"I don't get it. I thought Frieza was the big boss." Goku's brow furrows. "I thought all this planet conquering stuff ended when I killed him."

Vegeta and Ytvl both bark a laugh at the same time, and Goku looks between them both before settling on Lya. Cracking through the blankness of her features, there's a sort of pitying expression.

"Goku, if anything, Frieza's death escalated matters. It sent shockwaves through the Empire and caused so much disarray that it unsettled the fabric of how it operated. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers died as order was re-established with Hailer and Cooler as the newly appointed leaders."

"Good riddance," Vegeta spits.

"Not _good_ _riddance_ ," Lya retorts, flat. "As you well know, most men working for the Frost Empire don't do so by choice. Nearly sixty-seven percent of soldiers were forced into work. Yes, like _you_ , Vegeta."

Everyone turns to look at the saiyan. His pallor is looking better, but his expression is foul.

"I'm no victim, woman."

She ignores him and turns back to Goku. "It's getting worse. Hailer and Cooler are only moments away from warring with one another. We're concerned. As much as we would like to see one of them dead, it'll be difficult to battle an empire that doesn't have conflicting interests. A warring enemy is a weaker enemy, after all.

With both of them alive right now, it means they are spreading forces thin between one another, us and any other factions out against them. And whilst we have their attention now, they block each other in their endeavours more than we could ever dream to. With one of them out of the way, then it would mean the entire universe will be at an individual tyrant's mercy once again."

There's silence at her words. Even Vegeta doesn't contribute.

"I can back this up, Lord Cooler has regimes in place for the day Hailer readies an attack," the captain elaborates, "We've been training for such a day for years now, and I have no doubt it's the same for the southerners under Hailer."

"It is a race against time."

"How convenient," Vegeta comments, but it sounds weak.

"Don't act like you didn't know the worst kept secret in the Empire." Ytvel swings his shoulders back, flailing a pony-tail of hair. "Or do we only learn about this low brow gossip in the cheap seats? Was the prince above such whisperings when he served? Did you find the Frost family merry and warm?"

"Shut up, you rotten boot-licking bastard. Don't think I don't know what you are."

"Scathing. I think I'd be more upset if this came from someone who hadn't got their ass handed to them by the Ginyu Force."

"You bas-"

"Enough," Lya intervenes. "Ytvl, we are here to request their assistance, not stir the pot. No matter how frustrated you are about losing your position, you should not tease Vegeta after his ordeal. The Boiler is messy business."

"Ah… Of _course_..." Silkily, Ytvl bows a head. "You have my most sincere apologies, Vegeta."

"Eat shit."

"And that goes to say, Goku Son, in this time of need, I am shy of begging you. Your addition to our front can change the outcome and bring salvation to millions. With the victor over Frieza by our side, we will encourage investors, backers and people of position to support our aims in bringing down the Empire. You could be the difference, the one who can bring light into a life of darkness for many."

"But I've got something I gotta' do," he replies, "I… I've got my own mission."

"What could be more important than saving the universe?"

Goku's mouth goes dry and he stumbles over his words. "My mission… I have to… It's… ah. I… I was told that I shouldn't say."

"Tell us, what were you going to ask of the dragon balls?" Ytvl questions, "That's why you went to the decoy planet in the first place, right? You were seeking a wish. This has something to do with your mission, I assume."

Goku doesn't answer.

So Bulma does. "We're looking for someone."

Deadpan, Ytvl slumps against a wall. "You're asking the dragon balls to help you… locate a person."

"He went missing years ago, near where the old planet Namek was."

"Then he's probably dead."

"He's not!" Goku insists, "I'd know. We've tried before… with the dragon balls I mean…"

"What? I don't understand. You've already tried a different set of dragon balls?"

"Goddamn it, Goku," Piccolo growls. "Keep your trap shut."

"And it didn't work?" Ytvl continues anyway. He looks towards his boss. "I thought you said they can grant any wish?"

"Hmm… That is strange," she quietly agrees. "Something as simple as locating a person should not be above the dragon's power."

Something flutters about Goku's chest. "Do you know anything about it?"

"I… don't. No, I'm sorry. Like I earlier mentioned, we've been seeking the balls ourselves for quite some time now."

Piccolo clenches at his arms as they lay folded. "Keep seeking, you're not going to get them."

Ytvl quirks a brow, smirking. "What a scary namekian you have."

"I do admit, I am concerned by your words… Something like this being beyond the dragon balls' power?" Lya wonders, chin in her hand. "No… I do not like this at all…"

"Yeah, us too," Goku commiserates. "So that's why we've gotta' keep working on our mission. I'm sorry."

Lya releases a long breath at the stalemate.

"Um, would it make a difference if I told you that we're looking for a saiyan?" Bulma suddenly queries. Blank faces all around stare back –they have no idea where she's going with this, and neither goes Goku. "Look, saiyans have just been outlawed, right? How would they keep track of that? There must be a database or something."

Ytvl speaks first, "And what makes you think that your friend has even been documented?"

"Our running theory is that our _friend_ must have been picked up around where Namek was. And who would be looking around Namek after their beloved leader had last been sighted in that area?"

"You think that one of Frieza's ships found him?" Ytvl snorts. "A saiyan you said? Then he really is dead."

"He's _not_ dead," Goku asserts, "the dragon said so."

Lya's façade breaks. Her brows lift with mild surprise. "Oh?"

"They would _not_ spare a saiyan, Lya," Ytvl insists, "not then, not straight after Frieza's battle with one on Namek. They would have made an example out of them then and there."

"The dragon said he is alive?" Lya asks. When Goku nods, it's enough. "Then he is alive."

The captain clicks his tongue. "Then they didn't know he was a saiyan."

"At the time," Bulma points out. "Maybe they know now. Maybe it's been recorded, maybe someone's sighted him, and the Empire has logged it in their archives or something."

"You think they'll just _log it_?"

"No," Lya says quietly, and then a bit louder, "she has a point. Any _known_ saiyan has been documented and observed." She looks up and waves a hand at Goku. "Since your fateful battle with Frieza, any person with saiyan blood has been carefully monitored or simply destroyed. I'm surprised it took as long as it did to pass into law. I know it sounds awful but this may be good news for your cause. In the past, there have been warrants to capture saiyans and bring them in, maybe someone has seen something."

"I doubt you'll see anything in any of the Frost Empire archives," Ytvl inputs, " _but,_ you may find a variety of artefacts that can help you with your… mission. I remember retrieving an item that can search for missing treasures. I suppose it could be tweaked."

"What? Really?" Goku's chest blooms at the idea.

"Goku Son," Lya pushes. "If you help us be rid of both Cooler and Hailer, and then the Empire for good, then I swear our group will do everything in its power to find who you're looking for."

"We have researchers, scientists, historians, you name it," adds Ytvl. "If your saiyan friend is alive and well like you think he is, it'll be one of them who'll find him."

It feels as if someone has just winded him. He turns to Krillin first, expecting to see his friend nodding in quick agreement. Instead, reluctance faces back. Piccolo too, looks like he'd rather be any place than here. Bulma looks as unsure as Goku feels, and Vegeta looks straight up disgusted.

"Don't be stupid, Kakarot. It's a wormhole of lies and troubles. It'll only get you killed."

"We could start the search as soon as today," Lya says quickly, eyes darting to and away from Vegeta.

"I uh-"

Vegeta growls. "Even if they try and find the boy, there are no guarantees."

"But at least it's something," Lya pushes. "We'll help you find this saiyan. We won't stop looking until we find _something_."

Ytvl also adds in, "And let's say we don't find the saiyan, the least you've done is help us be rid of the worst tyrants the universe has ever seen."

Vegeta sniggers at this. "Oh yeah, and who do _you_ both work for?"

"Not the Frost Lords," Lya says icily to the prince. "We are a group opposing the Frost Empire, and our leader just wants liberation like the rest of us."

Vegeta releases a low whistle but doesn't say anything else on the matter.

Goku barely has time to think. Is this really a possibility? Could they really find him? Ytvl made a good point too; really, he'd just be helping by getting rid of this Hailer and Cooler. He'd basically be finishing the job he started with Frieza.

Beating Frieza had been bittersweet because that had also been the day his everything went south, the day he lost the most precious thing to him. Goku thinks of the times he had offered Frieza a second chance, and how that if he'd just done the job and ridded the universe of the tyrant quicker, _he'd_ still be here with him. Sure, Goku likes to believe everyone deserves a second chance, but… but some people just don't want to change. Hailer… Cooler, these brothers are just extensions of everything Frieza stood for.

And letting Frieza continue to live longer… only caused more pain in the end.

How could helping finish the job make things worse? If anything, it'll only increase his chances to complete his mission, to bring _him_ home.

"I'll do it."

Krillin coughs, a little surprised. "Goku, are you sure?"

"Yes, we have a deal," He nods at Lya. "I'll help you, if you help me."

"Of course, Goku Son. This is most excellent news."

"You're definitely gonna' to help me, right?"

"We will help you locate this missing person straight away."

"You idiot," Goku hears Vegeta mutter. It goes ignored.

"I'm glad you're finally seeing sense." Ytvl clasps his hands together, wincing when he remembers that one is injured. "Now, Goku Son, was it? That's rather strange for a saiyan name."

"Goku is fine."

"Alright, Goku, you're going to have to give us more information to work with. I'll get my guys to do some digging."

Goku turns towards Bulma, seeking council. When she nods, he feels lighter for it.

Ytvl leans in. " _So_ , what more can you give us?"

Goku's lips thin and he swallows. "He's my son."

A torrent of wind deflates from Ytvl's chest, one that's followed by an awkward laugh. "Ah, it's all starting to make sense. You're just a dad out to save his kid, huh? How sweet. You know, I wasn't aware saiyans even had hearts."

"A saiyan boy?" Lya quizzes. "No, wait, an adolescence? This may be more complicated than originally believed. Tell me, is the boy full-blooded?"

"Half," Piccolo answers when Goku doesn't understand the question.

Lya hums, and then turns her attention to her subordinate. "Don't disconnect your scouter from the server just yet. Try and access the online folders of Known Saiyans, Captives, POI, Deceased and possibly even the Youth Program. Download what you can."

Ytvl reaches towards the red scouter atop his left eye. "You sure? The longer I keep the scouter active, the longer we're exposed. They can track us through it as you well know, and I have faced enough angry southerners today to fill my quota, thank you."

"If Goku Son wants us to find his son then find him we shall try."

"Fine, but if they _do_ find us before I disable this thing, then kiss me goodbye. They're going to be after my blood, especially Hailer's prized hound. I don't think he's going to be very happy with me after all this. I ruined his big day, after all."

Vegeta cracks a knuckle. "Oh, leave the pretentious shit to me. I'll make him _wish_ I was performing The Boiler on him."

"Oh, the captain," Goku realises. "He's an android, right? I felt zero energy reading from that guy."

"That would explain a lot," Ytvl snorts.

"You were supposed to recruit him," Lya admonishes.

Ytvl bats a hand. "Trust me; getting anything from that guy is akin to getting blood from a stone. Whilst I don't think he likes the Empire about as much as the rest of us, he isn't about to jump into bed with a rebel organization, I'd wager."

"Pity."

"Don't be too sad, Lya, we'll see him again, no doubt. I'll eat my scouter if Lord Cooler and Hailer don't put him on my case. Saving Vegeta was a plan well done, of course, but I do think the repercussions of what happened there today will continue to chase us. The entire thing was a huge embarrassment for them, and they're going to want to right that wrong."

From his seat, still smouldering and stinking, Vegeta scoffs a final time.

"And this, Kakarot, is the typical bullshit you've just gotten us all involved in. I hope you like politics, unabashed greed, boot-lickers and being stabbed in the back."

Ytvl laughs. "And don't forget all the death, for the Empire is full of it."

Goku nods, solemn. "So long as we find Gohan."


End file.
